literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Gone the Tides of Earth
Through the night I held her there, she lay in my arms, a scent of wood and lavender mingled in the air. In damp under the covers lying together felt nice, cool, a transparency awoke of the senses the way that all things become clarified after. Gently, she touched my arm, ‘Do you think the others will be coming in soon?’
By James B. William R. Lawrence6 years ago in Humans
Gone the Tides of Earth
In the beginnings of autumn, we were stationed at an alpine post deposited in the northwestern range of Hellenic Macedonia. Its main function was as supply department, fueling station and stopover encampment accommodating soldiers between movements, those headed to the lines at the garrisons and others who arrived southbound from duty for rest. Therefore, it was mostly like what trading posts of old came to be, for settlers and natives in the early incarnation of the Americas.
By James B. William R. Lawrence6 years ago in Humans
Three-Way
He wiped the thin film of sweat that had formed on his twitchy palm across the upper thigh of his navy-blue jeans. He was stood outside the bar smoking a guilty cigarette. By every metric, the evening was going well, except for the ringing phone in his hand. He didn’t know if he wanted to answer it, much less what to say if he did.
By Dec Cochran6 years ago in Humans
‘Merlot’ From NC
As a simple and uncomplicated black man from the Outer Banks of North Carolina, my unexpected career opportunity in London, England was frightening. Yet, that being said, still a beautifully explorational process to explore. See, ever since I was a child, ‘knee-high’ to a grasshopper, I fixated with the idea of once in my lifetime visiting, ‘The Big Smoke’. I longed to hear ‘proper’ English spoken the way it was designed to be approached into the ear cavity. I dreamt of devouring ‘fish and chips’, in a newspaper, by the River Thames. Now, as a fairly young man, not only am I getting that chance to visit this ‘gem of a city’, I have also acquired the opportunity to work and reside here as well. And now that I am a little older than that ‘dreaming kid’, I may even partake in a hefty pint of beer, to accompany my ‘street food’ by the river? My arrival at Heathrow airport was hectic to say the least. Never in my life have I ever been to a city so grand and I must also be completely frank with you; never in my life have I even witnessed a subway system, and now I find myself hopelessly and clumsily trying to navigate this elaborate system alone, with a plethora of Samsonite bags. (Later, I would find out from someone that arriving at Heathrow airport was much less of a hectic struggle than the further away, Gatwick airport.) Nevertheless, I found my way to my small, yet, stylish ‘flat’ near Trafalgar Square, in central London. I was greeted by a ‘smartly’ dressed doorman. (And yes, as luck would have it, I lived but only a minute walk from my apartment to my beloved river below!). Greeted by the doorman, he says, “ It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Frankfort. Here are your keys to your new ‘flat’. Would you care for any help with your bags, sir ”? I answered him puzzled.... “ How did you know my name and who I was? “ He answered back in a deep British accent, “ Sir, this building is own by your company and 100% of the tenants in this building are occupied by your corporation’s counterparts. It is my job to know every face and name of each individual residing here and to make sure that each person is provided for adequately. And if there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.” I replied gratefully, “ Ok, I appreciate that, but I am just going to go upstairs and rest a bit....but, thank you.” As I was tirelessly inching toward the elevator, the doorman briskly walks up to me from behind and utters, “ By the way, sir, forgive me, but I forgot to give you this letter and a bottle of perfectly-aged merlot left for you. I replied, “ Kool, probably just a ‘welcome gift’ from the corporation or something, thanks? ” As I made my way into my apartment, I gazed out of my window at the perfect view of the River Thames. As I sat down and placed the bottle of wine on the counter, I glanced at the letter. It read, ‘ Welcome to London, ‘Merlot’. You not only have you followed your dream and claimed it, you have surpassed ever aspect of this said dream. This was a dream that most could not even fanthom coming from a tiny city on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Someone as beautifully, ‘dark and smooth’ as a merlot, should only sip on the best of such. After you freshen up, meet me downstairs at the bar with the bottle of wine, I will posses the wine glasses for us to drink and ‘catch up’. I will be anticipatingly waiting on your presence, ‘Merlot’❤️ ‘. Now, two things that you may not know about me, is that I don’t know a soul in this city and most importantly, the nickname given to me by my much older cousins, as that kid dreaming of a life in London, was affectionately known as, ‘Merlot’. ( This was because of the dark rich complexion of my skin. Only someone from my neighborhood would know of this nickname? ) So, I hurriedly showered, dressed and gotten on an elevator to the bottom floor. At the entrance of the door of the bar downstairs, wearing my favorite black suit, I grasped this great bottle of wine and the notion of whom this could be? Then, right there, at the end of the bar with two wine glasses, sat ‘Monica’, my very first ‘crush’ in middle school. She looked beautiful as ever and smiled seductively as she said, “Good evening, ‘Merlot’. I guess that you are wondering what I may be doing here in London? I know that it has been a considerable amount of time, since we communicated with each other last. But, when I ran across your name and picture on your resumé, I had to have your talent and friendship on my team. I have lived here in London for quite some time and to have someone that I care for from home, here on my team, would be an absolute blessing.” Still confused, yet pleasantly surprised by this meeting, I asked, “ Monica, wow.... I really missed you and where have you been all of these years? Wait... and how did you come across my resumé ? ” She smiled even bigger as she answered, “ Well, I am not the CEO of the company, but I have a little pull here. Two things, that bottle of Merlot that you are holding in your hand, is not only made by the company that you work for, but it is partly owned by me. Strangely enough, I too had desired dreams of far away lands. I am the ‘majority’ stockholder of the company, ‘Merlot’.” Winking at me she says, “ So, why don’t you have a seat next to me, find us a corkscrew and let’s drink, catch up and celebrate? ” I asked her jokingly, “ Is this finally going to be considered our ‘first date’ or is ‘fraternizing’ not allowed in the company? ” She replied as she grab my hand, “ I own the company, ‘Merlot’, so, we can call this whatever we like and I would love the idea of this being considered our first date. I missed you deeply ”. I just shook my head, realizing that the world is much smaller than we know.....and unfathomable dreams can actually become reality.....if you just believe in the ‘dark richness’ of it all.
By Tyronn Rahda Monroe6 years ago in Humans
Dream man in LaLa land
I was on the best vacation of my life, a week with my best friend Melissa, in the city of angels. To say I was fascinated by the rich and famous would be an understatement. My dream was to become a writer and live happily ever after in California. Melissa, was a tall platinum blonde model with lots of connections and friends in the industry. So to my great delight, she was asked on a date by a very famous movie star, Tom Diaz and as the loyal loving friend she was, she asked him to bring a guy for me.
By Samantha Durnil6 years ago in Humans
Oscar Wilde's The Nightingale and the Rose - Rewritten
He was too far gone, lost inside that little world raging inside of his mind, where everything was fine. He was in control. Every change in season, every flow of life and story was concocted within the safe confines of his mind. It was a scheduled process. Every seasonal change occurred just as it did in the real world, but there were magic and wonder in his mind. It kept him on his toes, and the outside world never mingled with the inside one, and it was better off that way. But Oliver? Oliver danced around in his mind as well. Red hair bouncing about as he took Robin's hands and they ran through fields of the greenest grass one had ever seen. The problem was, Robin's feelings had started to manifest outside of his cage. Thoughts and feelings were becoming muddled and tangled. Oliver was his friend. Nothing more. Everything was just in his mind.
By Anarky Taylor6 years ago in Humans
The Grove
The boy whips a green hickory nut across the shaded yard, and Dog—a hundred and ten pounds of furred muscle— launches after it. His little sister laughs at the rooster tail of sand thrown by the dog’s hind feet. The boy shushes. The little girl claps both hands over her mouth.
By Steven Thomas Howell6 years ago in Humans
Common Sense
Socrates strolled down the sidewalks of his city, his flowing scarlet robes and eagle’s nest of gray hair an irresistible magnet for the youth of Harlem. Everyone knew him, but not everyone loved him. While his learned way of discourse was known to snap a ruffian out of delinquency or a depressive out self-denigrating slumber, there were those who saw him as a fraud, a charlatan, a poseur. In fact, very few people could grok what he was saying as he spoke in riddles and metaphors and cited obscure facts that were hard to believe. Many tuned him out. Those who stayed the course with him were said to have found new freedom in their personal lives. Being a law student at Columbia who had been tethered to formal education for most of my life, I felt I was lacking something, but didn’t know what that something was.
By Banning Lary6 years ago in Humans
A Flute Of Merlot
His name was Willow Smithers, a strong Scotsman. He stood over the grave of his late wife, Molly, shoveling in dirt atop her casket. He did this with a heart heavy with sorrow, each shovelful signifying a farewell. He wasn't rich, but he scraped together enough money to give her a proper send off.
By Robert Niemski6 years ago in Humans
Mister Red
Mister Red By Lori Jean Phipps Glass of Rodney Strong Merlot 2015 in one hand, Marianne Williamson’s self-help book A Return to Love in the other with the hit pop song “Red, Red Wine” by UB40 unobtrusively playing in the background, sitting in a chaise lounge chair wearing a luxurious red and white polka dot dress feeling at peace and relishing the warm eighty-nine-degree sun beating down on my face. I had just finished reading an intense chapter on metaphysics and the last sentence was lingering in my mind: “Our devotion then becomes our work, and our work becomes our devotion.”
By Lori Jean Phipps6 years ago in Humans
